Albel and the Secret of Monkey Island
by Commie Sky
Summary: Aquaria and Airyglyph have been at peace for exactly one year.To celebrate this joyous anniversary of peace, Airyglyph throws a huge, crazy party. After losing a drinking game, Albel must journey to Melee Island and become a pirate.
1. Chapter 1

It was a balmy night, the stars were glittering in the clear black sky and a cool ocean breeze gently blew through the leaves as Albel the Wicked crested Look Out Point and gazed out over the entire Melee Island.

A hunched backed old man stood at a low stone wall, observing the placid sea. The old bag was the first human Albel had seen since arriving on this godforsaken rock, so he decided he might as well introduce himself and pop the question.

"Old worm!" he said loudly as he approached.

"YIKES!" the old man spun around. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

Albel was 87.3549 degrees to the man's left.

"I'm over here."

The old man corrected himself. Though he was wearing humongous glasses, the lookout seemed to be rather blind.

"My name is Albel Nox," said Albel, "and I want to become a mighty pirate! Who should I talk to around here?"

"Arbel? What kinda name-?"

The maggot didn't get to finish his sentence, he no longer had a mouth to speak with.

"Damnit!" Albel cursed, now he didn't know where to go AND he had blood all over his good skirt.

After wasting a good thirty minutes trying to lessen the awkward stain, Albel gave up and assessed his situation.

He was penniless in a strange land and there was only one other way down the mountain.

He followed the steep rocky path down to a boardwalk into town.

At the end of the boardwalk there was a useless building, on the side of ehich was a poster which read "Re-elect Governor Zelpher" and bore the image of a red-haired, green-eyed woman. Albel continued down the boardwalk.

Loud music and the sound of drunken revelry emanated from the next building he approached. Above the door was a sign which read SCUMM Bar in cheerful yellow letters, with a smiley face painted between the two words.

It seemed a likely place. Albel steeled himself and entered. His last encounter with alcoholic beverages had ended in this rather unpleasant situation.

As he entered the crowded building the overpowering stench of piss-drunk pirates, bad food, and general uncleanliness washed over him. He was relieved, however, to note that no one seemed to notice a bloodstained, be-clawed, skirted individual with unusual hair had just intruded upon their merry-making.

He moved forward a few feet, no simple task, and scowled.

He still had no idea how to go about becoming a pirate and this place did not look like it would be terribly helpful. Sure it was stuffed full of pirates, but they were incredibl drunk and all appeared to be low-level maggots. They were, after all, wasting their time in a place called _SCUMM_.

He turned to leave only to find such a feat nearly impossible.

A pile of the drunken worms had passed out in front of the door, and a new, even fouler odor came from the vicinity of the pile, suggesting that someone had been unable to hold his drink all over the door knob.

Albel scowled some more and muttered curses under his breath.

He approached the nearest pirate who looked a little less drunk than his fellows.

"Ahoy there, stranger," said the pirate, who's face was pretty much covered with hair. "You new in town?"

"Who's in charge here?" Albel asked, getting straight to the point.

"Well, this island has a governor, but we pirates have our own leaders."

"And where might they be?"

"You'll be wantin' to talk to the important-looking pirates in the next room."

Albel turned and went to the next room, which wasn't really another room so much as the other side of a moth-eaten, red, velvet curtain.

Three important-looking pirates sat at a table next to a roaring fire drinking more of that foul-smelling swill that appeared to be the beverage of choice at this establishment.

One pirate wore blue, one pirate wore green, and the third pirate wore black with red trim.

When Albel approached the trio of boozers the one in green asked, "What ye be wantin', boy?"

"I want to be a pirate," was Albel's plain response.

"So?" asked the pirate.

"Why bother us?" asked the one in blue.

"Don't forget," said the one in black, "we're short on help because of this whole LeChuck, thing. No pirates means no swag. No swag means no grog. And we're getting dangerously low on grog." He took another swig of the bubbling green slosh.

Albel made a face, disgusted by their blatant piggishness and wanton waste.

The green pirate spoke again, "Well, you can be a pirate. But first you have to pass the Three Tirals!"

"The Three Trials!" the other two pirates echoed, and they all drank deep of their grog.

"And what," Albel resisted the urge to spit, "are the three trials?"

"They are the three trials which every pirate must pass."

"Sword mastery," said the pirate in blue.

"The art of thievery," said the pirate in green.

"And the art of err- treasure . . . hunter-y," said the pirate in black.

Albel was getting tired of these fools and their refusal to answer questions with any great clarity.

After extracting as much information about each trial as he could, Albel left the pirates to their grog.

Since the front door was still blocked, Albel went through the kitchen to attempt to escape that way.

No dice.

Thankfully, as he returned from his fruitless endeavor to the kitchen, the lushes in front of the door were being cleared away, whether of their own volition or through force. Albel took his chance and darted out the door as one particularly thin pirate dragged an equally fat pirate out the door.

He was eternally grateful to be able to breath fresh, clean air.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I hold no claim on MI or SO. I just love them very muchly. Don't sue me.

* * *

Meanwhile . . .

Deep beneath Monkey Island, the Ghost Pirate Leingod's ship lies anchored in a river of lava.

"Captain Leingod . . . sir . . . I . . ." stammered the phantom first mate.

"Ah-," interrupted the foul blue captain, "There's nothin" like the hot winds of hell blowin' in your face."

"No sir," agreed the mate, "Nothing like it . . . Ah . . . Sir . . .I-" he tried to continue.

"It's days like this that makes you glad to be dead," Leingod interrupted again.

"Oh, yes sir . . . glad to be dead . . . ." the poor first mate agreed again.

"Ye are glad to be dead, RIGHT?" demanded Leingod.

"Oh yes sir," he said, "I feel so lucky that you happened to capture my ship, the murdered me and everyone on board . . ." The first mate was pretty experienced at the whole sucking-up to your undead employer thing. "Yes sir . . . lucky." There was only the slightest trace of sarcastic bitterness in his voice, imperceptible to the callused captain.

"Glad to hear it," said Leingod. "Now what was it you disturbed me for?"

"Ah . . . yes sir . . . ," he was glad to finally get to say what he came here to say. He didn't walk into Leingod's personal quarters for no good reason. that was just stupid. "Well, you see, we might have a problem on Melee Island."

"PROBLEM?!?" THIS was why you didn't go into Leingod's quarter's for no good reason.

"What possible problem could there be!?" The ghost pirate roared.

"I've got those sissy pirates so scared of the sea they're afraid to take a bath!" Though they probably didn't need Leingod to keep them from bathing- they were pretty good at that all ready.

"Well . . ." the mate began to justify, "There seems to be a new pirate in town. Actually," he continued, "he's a pirate wannabe." Leingod looked a little annoyed. "Young. Inexperienced," the mate realized he wasn't helping himself, but continued anyway. Never leave a job unfinished, "Probably nothing to worry 'bout. Don't know why I bothered you with it." Hopefully he could save himself, "I'll have him taken care of myself." He turned to leave the room.

"Wait!" said Leingod.

"I'll handle this personally. My plans are too important to be messed up by amateurs."

The first mate was shocked but very relieved. No spitting rage, no fire and brimstone, no lashings or other punishments.

"Yes sir." He replied, perhaps a little too joyfully.

He left Ghost Pirate Captain Fayt Leingod to his musings.

* * *

Albel scowled as he wandered along the streets of Melee. 

He had no idea where to start with his trials, he had no idea what he was even doing here in the first place.

Why the hell did he want to be a pirate?

He was Albel the Wicked, leader of the Black Brigade, the most feared man in Airyglyph.

Yet this irrational urge to become a pirate drove him on.

He noticed some shady looking fellows eyeing him as he rounded a corner.

NO! He would not ask if any of them knew how to set about completing his trials.

Resolutely, he decided to go look in some of the shops along the street.

Though it was late and there were few people around, many of them were still open.

By many I mean one. Which, considering the number of shops in the area, was a lot.

The first/only building he entered was dark inside.

It was very cluttered and had an odd, not very pleasant smell.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he grimaced.

Some of the things- MANY of the things in the room seriously wigged him out.

Baskets full of something, probably poisonous snakes, stood on the floor.

Jars of bat drippings, monkey flakes, and cat knuckles cluttered the shelves and parts of skeletons hung on the walls.

It was all rather barbaric- even for Albel.

From the ceiling hung several dead chickens.

Ew.

Then something caught Albel's attention.

A rubber chicken with a pulley in the middle.

It was completely pointless.

But it amused him.

Greatly.

He absconded it.

There was a second room, just beyond another moth eaten curtain.

Some crazy, fat, black lady sat on the opposite side of a bubbling green cauldron.

She said some crazy stuff about a journey and a monkey head and Albel was full of back talk.

There were a lot of flashing lights and smoke, too, it was all quite impressive if you're into that sort of thing.

Which Albel wasn't.

Then she disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Albel scowled at her theatrics.

Not into that sort of thing.

Now that he had wasted time in the voodoo place, Albel was back where he started.

Albel didn't notice any more likely-looking buildings on this side of town, so he continued on under the arch which divided the small pirate haven.

There was a church, a store, and a prison.

Albel didn't feel like shopping just then, so he went into the church.

Some one kept shouting "pssst!" from the alley between the store and the church.

Albel ignored it, probably one of the drunks from the SCUMM Bar.

The church was very- churchy.

And boring.

There was no one there and nothing to look at but stained glass windows and rows of pews.

Then Albel wondered why there was a church in a town full of good-for-nothing pirates.

For a change of mood he went on to the prison.

For a town of criminals, Albel found it odd that the prison had only one scrawny occupant.

As Albel approached him, the man begged "You gotta let me outta here! I'm a victim of society!"

"I don't help idiots whose breath reeks as bad as yours." Albel spat. The man's breath honestly made him gag.

"Hey, it's hard to keep your breath minty-fresh when there's nothing to eat in here but rats! And at least I don't have blood on my skirt. . . at least I'm not wearing a skirt!" He argued in his defense.

Albel shrugged and left.

He wandered back towards the shop.

That idiot in the alley was still pretending to whisper at him.

He decided to go 'take care' of the fool.

Albel was annoyed there was no one there.

But there was a poster for a circus.

Albel loved a circus!

Not.

He heard booted footsteps come up behind him.

He cursed himself for a fool.

How could he be so stupid as to fall for such an obvious trap?

"You know," said a creepy man's voice, "bad things could happen to a person in a dark, deserted alley like this one. Especially to skinny men wearing skirts." Albel turned to see the man grin a very scary grin. A four letter word starting with 'r' forced it's self into Albel's brain.

"And at this time of night," continued the creepy bald man, "nobody would be around to see it."

"Yeah?" Albel replied, "Bad things also happen to fools who sneak up on Albel the Wicked from behind." He growled menacingly.

The man, who upon further inspection appeared to be a sheriff, didn't seem to be phased by this in the least. "So, you're going to give me a little attitude, eh?"

The man moved closer. Too close for Albel's manhood's comfort. There were bits of blue hair sticking out from under the sheriff's bald cap. If Albel had blue hair he might wear a bald cap, too . . . or shave. "I'd better get your name," said the sheriff. At least he wasn't going to rape him, Albel thought.

Remembering the bad breath of the only other convict in town, Albel decided it was best to comply for now.

"Albel Nox," he hissed.

"Well Arbel," said the sheriff.

"ALBEL!" corrected Albel, forcing himself not to draw his sword.

"Whatever your name is, I'm the sheriff around here. Sheriff Fester Shinetop." His breath smelled weird . . . like burning.

"Take it from me," said Fester, "This is a bad time to be visiting Melee Island. A very BAD time. My advice to you is to find somewhere else to take your vacation." He turned and walked out of the alley.

Albel was almost glad he hadn't murdered the fool yet. Almost. He seemed very fishy and fishy seemed the right sort of thing for him to figure out as a wannabe pirate in a town full of pirates who didn't want to go pirating.


End file.
